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Dillon plans to try out his hypnotism on his virginal girlfriend, but he’s interrupted by her snobby, conceited, cock-blocking roommate Hannah. When Dillon unexpectedly finds himself alone with Hannah one night he decides a change of plans is in order, but what price will he pay when everything is said and done? This raunchy tale of dubious consent is not for the faint of heart! This story features: oral and anal pleasures, spanking, hair pulling, mind control sex, foot fetishes, squirting, anal creampies, and revenge!

I sneak around the side of the Burke house, and trudge out onto the muddy path through the backyard and find Mr. Burke sitting on a putrid green couch in the back of his giant garage, toying with old tractor parts. When he sees me coming towards him he pulls the stubby cigar out of his mouth with a grease stained hand, takes a long pull on his beer and stares at me, shaking his chubby bald head back and forth.

“Brittany, Brittany, darling you look somethin’ special today!” he says, ogling me up and down.

He flicks his smoldering cigar and the ash lands on the foul cushions.

“That dress suits you just fine,” he says, staring at my cleavage so hard it’s making my cheeks hot.

“Thank-you Mr. Burke,” I say, politely. “I got it for my birthday.”

“That’s right; I plum forgot all about it! You ain’t jail bait no more, is you?”

“You can still give me and my Nana a present Mr. Burke.”

He nervously dodges my suggestion, “How is Rose?” he asks, not waiting for an answer, “I saw your granny passed out on the front porch a couple nights ago; still clinging tight to the wine bottle,” he chuckles to himself.

“She’s fine except the house is-”

Mr. Burke rudely interrupts me while continuing to study my sheer white dress. I knew I should have worn a bra today, because I’m sure he was staring at my pink nipples through the gauzy fabric.

“Sugar you’re wasting you’re time with my son, you know. He’ll never appreciate you the way a more seasoned gentleman, like myself would,” he says, licking his chapped lips as if getting ready for supper.

I do my best to deflect his inappropriate comment, “You’re so sweet Mr. Burke; your wife is a lucky lady,” was the best I could manage.

“Ain’t nothing lucky about being married to a frigid fish that won’t give up the tuna…if you know what I mean,” he says, with a wink of his beady eyes.

I don’t know how to respond to his TMI (Too Much Information) moment, so an uncomfortable; at least for me, moment of silence passes between us.

However he looks plenty comfortable saying nothing; just staring at my mouth and fiddling with his hand down his dirty trousers like he had an itch he couldn’t scratch hard enough. What was he doing?

“When you gonna start calling me ‘Daddy’ young lady? The wedding is only two months away.”

“Sure thing Mr. Burke…I mean daddy.”

“Now that’s better; has a ring to it coming out of that sweet mouth of yours,” he says, as his eyes follow the curve of my dress down to my butt.

“So you and your tiny shriveled little key are gonna let old Ned throw me and my Nana out on the street, like yesterday’s trash? I grew up in that house that my Pop-pop built by hand!” I say, angrily.

My change in tone seems to have temporarily shifted his attention from my nubile body to my irritated face.

“First of all honey, ain’t nothing tiny and shriveled about Big Daddy Burke! Secondly, in life we have to make sacrifices sometimes to protect the things we hold near and dear,” he informs me, in a way that sounds like he’s accusing me of not caring enough about Nana’s house. This fat smelly troll was really starting to piss me off with his condescending tone, and arrogant attitude.

“Screw you Mr. Burke, I didn’t want to come here and have to grovel and beg you for money! I thought you would have the desire to help out your future daughter in law, in her time of need. However it appears you’re quite limp and impotent in this regard; clearly not able to work up enough desire to get the job done!”

“Ooooweee! You sure are a lively one!”

“Coming here was a waste of time,” I say, out loud to myself.

“You would do anything to get that dilapidated excuse for a house out of foreclosure, wouldn’t you honey?” he questions, while undressing me with his eyes.

“That’s right…daddy. But I guess I need to talk to old Ned; the big man on campus,” I throw the words sarcastically in his flabby face as I stride towards the door.

“Now hold on a minute sweetie. I can make sure your Nana never has to worry about her mortgage again, for as long as she lives.”

I freeze in my tracks, skeptical. “How’s that Mr. Burke?”

“All you gotta do is let me ‘Burke’ you!” he snorts, letting out a deep dirty chuckle at his own joke, the sweaty detestable pig!

“You’re married! And what about your son? How could you say such a thing?”

“Don’t play coy with me child! You come strolling in here in that sheer white dress without a bra, looking like sex for sale; I know exactly what you’re playing at!”

“Playing at?” I say, innocently, “I’m not playing at anything, and I think it’s very rude of you to talk to me in such a crass manner!” I point a threatening finger in his fat face and I say, “Just wait till I tell Colton, you dirty old man!”

“Tell him anything you want…after I help myself to a piece of his pie.”

“Excuse me?” I question; as if I didn’t hear what he said…or catch his vulgar innuendo.

The next thing I know Mr. Burke grabs me around my waist and roughly pushes me over the raggedy arm of the musty old couch, leaving my butt sticking in the air and my face buried in the cushion next to his smoldering cigar ash.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” I say, in honest shock at his brazenness.

“You just hush up darling, and hold still for daddy.”

“You are not my daddy!” I shriek at him as I try to get up from the couch, but he holds me firmly in place by my slender waist, flips my dress up and rubs his manhood against my lacy white panties like a repulsive ape.

“I’m your daddy today, baby girl,” he says in a way that makes my skin crawl.

….as they disappeared down the dim side hallway of the diner to the dirty single toilet restroom and locked the graffitied door behind them, and Tina kissed him with unbridled passion before Tom spun her around and yanked Tina’s pink cotton panties with the purple hearts down so hard that they ripped, and she stepped out of them, and Tom bent her over burying his face between her supple thighs while Tina braced herself with one arm against the grimy wall in front of her as Tom thrust his long tongue deep into her sweet bubble gum pussy, sucking on her swollen clit and the lips of Tina’s snatch, tickling her anal flower with his nose as Tom licked her sweltering heat until Tina was begging so loud for him to fuck her with his thick cock that the whole diner probably heard, and Tom was in such a hurry to be inside of Tina’s honey-hole that he derailed his zipper getting out of his pants, but Tom didn’t care as he flipped up Tina’s short white mini skirt over her firm bubble butt, grabbing her shapely hips with both hands and entered her tight pussy in one stiff forceful motion, and Tina yelped with pleasure as he started pistoning her cunny faster and harder, making Tina moan at the torrid pleasure of the taboo quickie sex scene she was involved in with a married man, who was almost twice her age, in a nasty public restroom, as Tom squished in out of Tina’s sopping wet vagina with punishing force as Tom braced a penny-loafered foot against the toilet rim for extra leverage and Tina was forced to plant both hands on the dirty wall to counteract Tom’s powerful strokes, as he relentlessly pounded into her pussy, and each stroke brought Tina closer to ecstasy, as Tom leaned forward with a hand down the front of her yellow blouse, squeezing Tina’s boob, and pinching her erect nipple, as Tom grabbed a handful of her silky strawberry blonde hair in the other hand pulling hard, then yanking Tina’s head back to lick her sexy neck, and nibble on her cutely shaped earlobes, as customers with full bladders and crossed legs started to bang on the locked door, complaining loudly….

Ginger stands me up and removes my blouse and bra, leaving me in nothing but my mini skirt. She takes my hand and leads me to the big red support beam that runs from the floor to the ceiling in our living room. She places a pillow at the base of the steel I-beam girder and has me sit on it with my back to the beam. She leans me forward and places the second pillow behind my back and head. She draws my arms behind my back securing them with the cuffs, then removes the satin tie from her robe and covers my eyes with it.

“You look delicious,” she purrs.

I feel a little vulnerable blindfolded and handcuffed to the pole half-naked, but I trust Ginger. Just then I hear a, ‘whoosh’ sound and feel a sting on my thigh; no doubt from her braided leather riding whip, of which she was quite fond.

“Ouch! You bitch!” I cry out, more in shock than pain.

“That’s no way to talk to your mistress,” she says disappointed.

She runs the skinny strands from the end of the whip between my breast and across my neck.

Crack! I hear from the whip, seemingly before I even felt it snap sharply across my tits.

“Fuck, Ginger!” I yell in honest pain. “That hurt!”

“Don’t be such a cry baby,” she scolds, as she tickles the bottom of my bare feet with the whip and slithers it up my leg.

I couldn’t see it through the blindfold, but I’m sure she had a big wicked smile on her face. She kneels down straddling my thigh and I feel her smooth hairless, Hollywood waxed pussy rubbing against my leg.

In a hushed voice she says, “I think I love you.”

I open my mouth to speak; not sure what I would say back, when I feel her hand gently covering my mouth and hear her shushing me to be quiet.

It must have been the exhaustion of working all night that was making her a bit loopy. I mean Ginger and I have been messing around a lot lately, but she’s never said she loves me; not even after that time I made her come so hard she cried. Ginger doesn’t tell her own boyfriend Matt that she loves him, but that’s probably on account of their open relationship and all.

She humps my leg a little harder and sucks playfully on my nipples while snaking a slender hand between my legs. Ginger toys with my clit making small circles with her fingers, and I feel the slightest hint of her pearly whites tugging on my erect nipples as she licks and sucks my tits.

Suddenly she plunges two fingers into my wetness, forcing an involuntary groan from my lips, then I feel Ginger’s long auburn hair gliding up against my boobs as she softly kisses my neck. She works her stiff fingers in and out of my dripping cunny while expertly pleasuring my love button with her thumb at the same time. Ginger really knew how to get me going.

I know what you’re thinking; how could you sexually take advantage of an innocent young woman with a developmental disability?You sick bastard! The truth of the matter is the only special needs my differently-abled neighbor Betty had, involved the satisfaction of her oral fixations, and a couple rounds of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. So who was I to deny her carnal curiosities?

*****

My day started out shitty. Even though we had only been together eight months, it still hurt like hell. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her to move in so fast. I was playing back the entire relationship in my head. It was like a cheesy romantic comedy movie suddenly turned tragedy without the, happily ever after. I reviewed the part I played, second guessing every word I said, every thing I did, and tried to figure out what went wrong.

“It’s not you Jerry, it’s me. I need to spread my wings and be independent,” Donna says as she takes the last box of her things from our apartment…well, I guess it’s back to being my apartment, and places the front door key in my hand. I did my best to keep a stiff upper lip, and not break down balling in tears at her feet.

“Call me sometime, maybe we can do lunch or something,” I tell her, hoping I don’t sound like a pathetic loser.

“A little advice for you…strictlyfriend, get a real job,” Donna said, in a way that made me feel like less than a man.

I watched her stride to the end of the long hallway with not a care in the world, and as she turned the corner for the elevator, disappearing from view, my tears overcame me.

I quickly retreated to the privacy of my apartment so I could fall apart like a weepy little bitch all by myself and not have my manhood, or inability to keep a girlfriend, questioned by any of the other tenants of the building.

I cried and cried under the fuzzy blankets of my, too big for one person bed, until my eyes were puffy and red, and I couldn’t cry anymore. So I lied there sobbing, depressed and lonely.

When I heard a dainty knock on my apartment door I harbored the secret fantasy that it would be Donna; begging me to take her back after realizing what a fool she had been. I quickly fixed my hair, wiped my runny nose on my shirt sleeve and rushed to the door.

When I open the door to my apartment I’m instantly bear-hugged by Betty; the young retarded woman who lives across the hall from me.

“Hi, Betty.”

Betty hugged me longer than what would be considered socially acceptable, while squirming her body and boobs against me in a way that I felt like I just got molested on a crowded city bus.

Finally she releases me from her grasp, and brushes past me into my living room carrying her ever present lime green travel case in her white gloved hands.

Betty and I had never said more than, “hi” or “bye” to each other in the hallways or lobby of our apartment building, so I found it rather presumptuous that she sauntered right into my place without even asking.

“I heard your tears falling, Jerry. When I have tears my mommy gives me fairy floss, hugs and rookies,” Betty says, as she plops down on my couch, sits her case on the coffee table and pops open the lid.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “What’s fairy floss?”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot, and holds up a zip-lock bag full of rainbow colored cotton candy.

“Duh,” Betty says, handing me the bag.

“Oh right, thanks.”

I sit down next to her, open the bag and break off a piece of the hard-as-rock candy. Fortunately it still melted in my mouth even though it had a stale cardboard flavor. Betty scooches super-close to me on the couch, invading my personal space, and hands me a second bag.

“There’s your rookies, Jerry. I made them yesterday when I saw you crying in the lobby.”

I briefly consider refuting her observation with a little white lie about allergies, but it’s not like Betty was judging me; she was simply stating a fact. I sample the rookies…you or I might call them raisin cookies, which thankfully were quite moist, chewy and delicious despite being crumbled into little bits as if trampled by a herd of elephants.

“Can I ask you a question, Betty?”

She turns to me in wide-eyed anticipation, “Sure!”

“Why do you wear white gloves?”

Betty holds up her gloved hands and flutters her fingers like a Las Vegas showgirl. “Everyone thinks it’s on account of my finger sucking, but the truth is, I’m royalty and it’s bad manners for unwashed commoners to touch my noble skin. I wear gloves so as not to break any of the rules of proper etiquette.”

I try my best to keep a straight face, and not laugh at her ridiculous explanation, but I completely lose it when Betty laughs first. We laugh together for some time at her silly joke, when I suddenly realize Betty’s humor, out of date fairy floss, and rookies have indeed lifted my previously sour mood.

“Can I ask you something?” Betty says still laughing.

“Sure,” I say with a smile.

“Can I see your penis?”

“What?” I say, nearly choking on a raisin.

She points to my crotch. “Your pee-pee. I bet you got a nice one.”

“No! Betty, no,” I tell her, springing to my feet.

“I’ll let you see my vagina,” Betty says, hiking up her blue skirt.

“No, Betty stop!”

“You don’t like vagina?”

“It’s not that, Betty, you shouldn’t-“

She cuts me off, telling me, “It’s okay if you like boys; I learned about homosexuals in Sex-Ed class.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Good, cuz I like to touch myself and imagine you’re the one sexing me when I lay in bed at night with my eyes closed real tight and my legs spread wide and loose.”

I stood there with my mouth agape; shocked at her admission.

“Thanks for the cookies and cotton candy, but I think you should head back to your place now,” I say, as I usher her to my front door.

“He didn’t have any tools!” Betty blurts out.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s how I knew she was lying.”

“Who was lying?”

“Donna.”

Annoyed, I ask her, “What was she lying about?”

“I might be slow but I’m not stupid. She told me he was a plumber…I bet he parked his Equus ferus caballus around the corner.”

I was starting to think Betty’s head was full of nothing more than fluffy fairy floss. “What in the world are you talking about?”

Betty points to the heat vent in the floor. “I could hear them sexing, and she always called him cowboy; that’s how I knew he wasn’t a plumber.”

“You heard Donna, and a man?”

“Yeppers! Every Tuesday and Thursday night, just like a clock working. She was always telling him to, ride her rough,” Betty says, “what does that mean, Jerry? Do you think he was hitting her with one of those riding crops, cuz I heard a lot of slapping and spanking going on.”

As I thought of my weekly Tuesday and Thursday night creative writing classes at the local community college, Betty suddenly seemed a lot less challenged.

“It’s because I’m slow, right? I wish I was smart like Einstein, then you’d want to sex me for sure.”

“You’re a very nice girl, Betty, but I just got dumped by my girlfriend, and now I find out she was cheating on me! This is not a good time.”

“You wanna see my breast?”

I wave her off, but I’m too late; Betty already has her shirt and bra pulled up to her neck. I feel like a total pervert when I realize I’m fixated on her enormously beautiful tits with perky pink nipples.

“My momma makes me wear a sports bra cuz she says my breast will draw too much of the wrong kind of attention. Can you give me the right kind of attention, Jerry?”

“Pull your shirt down, Betty.”

“Are you sure you’re not homosexual?”

“I like girls.”

“Good, cuz I’m DTF.”

“Pardon me?”

“Down to fuck.”

“Betty! Oh my god, don’t talk like that!”

“Why not? They say it on Jersey Shore.”

“It’s not proper…for royalty such as yourself,” I explain quite logically.

“I want you to pop my cherry, shred my V card, I’m down to get down,” Betty says, shaking her giant boobs like a stripper, “tell me when it’s a good time.”

“Do me a favor; cut back on the MTV, okay? Thanks, bye-bye now.”

I use the door to gently push her into the hallway, but Betty is still talking to me.

“You want another hug?” she says from the other side of the door.

“I’m good, Betty. Thanks.”

I jump back startled when I look down and realize Betty’s gloved fingers are tickling my bare foot from the gap under the door.

“I live across the hall in case you change your mind!” Betty says, with her hand waving good-bye under the door.

I lock the door and pick my iPad off the kitchen table. I open Google in a window and type, is it okay to have sex with a retarded woman?

I quickly discover two things: the word retarded is highly frowned upon when referring to the intellectually disabled; it’s use being highly offensive akin to the word nigger or faggot. Secondly I learned that it’s natural for adults with intellectual disabilities to have the same desires as everyone else. However it didn’t say whether it was lawfully permissible for a non-challenged person to have sexual relations with a challenged individual. Wait a minute; am I seriously considering acting on Betty’s advances?

*****

“That’s seriously fucked-up, man!” Malcolm says, as he adjust the brakes on a kid’s BMX bicycle. “What’s wrong with working at a bike shop?”

“Yeah, and she fed me a crock of shit about needing to be independent and spread her wings, but all she really wanted to do was spread her legs when I wasn’t around.”

Malcolm shakes his head. “I never trusted that scandalous tramp.”

I thought bitching about Donna would distract me from the Betty situation, but I couldn’t seem to get my special neighbor out of my head, no matter how hard I tried. Even the mountain of work that needed to be completed on customer bicycles at the shop was no help.

I dithered back and forth on whether or not to broach the subject with Malcolm. He’s my best friend in the world, but he could be a bit of a jokester. And Malcolm had a bad habit of never letting you live anything down…ever. He still teases me about the time in 2nd grade when I dropped the chalk at the blackboard in Ms. Osborne’s Algebra class and my pants split open leaving my tighty-whities flapping in the breeze.

In the end I decided to risk it, because I was going ape-shit keeping it penned up inside of me.

“Hey Mal, you ever been with a girl who wasn’t that smart?”

Malcolm looks at me funny, “Those are the only girls dumb enough to date me.”

“No, Mal. I’m talking about a girl who was maybe…a little slow.”

Malcolm wipes his hands on a shop rag. “Are you fishing from the short bus?”

I tip-toe up the stairs of my apartment building to the 3rd floor, and sneak down the empty hall to my front door. I quietly slide the key into my lock, hoping to stealthily enter without any need to deal with the Betty situation, but Betty’s door suddenly springs open.

“That’s him!” Betty proclaims loudly, pointing a white gloved finger accusingly in my direction. A scary looking line-backer of a black man comes out of her apartment door, nearly hitting his head on the top of the door frame.

“Go easy on him, Sam,” Betty tells him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” he tells her ominously, before striding across the hall and towering over me.

Betty giggles and closes her door.

I should have run away from the certain beat-down that was about to take place, I mean god only knows what she told him…probably something about me staring at her tits. However I was frozen solid like a deer in the headlights.

Tina stood timidly in Fat Jojo’s office, like a baby deer in front of a hungry lion. She heard the words he spoke, but wasn’t sure if she possessed the emotional fortitude to go through with her plans. It’s one thing to decide, I’m going to take off my clothes for money, and quite another to actually do it. Tina was frozen; suddenly second guessing herself. Fat Jojo recognizes the fear in her young eyes. “If you don’t want the job, sugar, I understand.” Tina didn’t necessarily want the job, but the easy money it could provide was the foundation to following her dreams of becoming a model and helping her mother out of hard times. “Listen honey, either take off your top, or hit the bricks. If I wanted a statue in my office I would’ve gone down to the art museum,” Fat Jojo says. Tina digs deep, and uncovers more courage than she would have dared to imagine. Tina slowly wiggles out of her trench coat and sets it on the chair next to her. Carefully, she undoes the pearly buttons on her pink blouse and takes it off. “Now take off your bra,” Fat Jojo says. Tina unhooks the front clasp on her bra, slides the narrow straps off her shoulders and fearlessly lets her bra fall to the floor behind her. “Okay?” she asks, standing before him topless. Fat Jojo leers with delight at her nubile body. “Give us a spin, sweet thing.” Tina slowly turns in a circle. “Wonderful, sugar! Simply wonderful!” “You want to see me dance?” Tina asks the sweaty black man, as goose bumps started to rise on her chilly skin. Tina found it kind of odd that Fat Jojo was perspiring so much in the cool office. She also thought it was strange the way it was taking him so long to answer. Fat Jojo just sat there scratching his chin, staring at her boobs, and rubbing himself behind his desk in places that Tina was happy she couldn’t see.